“No,” Vadim answered softly. “Not today.” There it was again, that weird tone in his voice. Just what had they had to do to make the bleeding stop? Suddenly, knowing the truth wasn’t quite so appealing.
“Where are the babies?” Right on cue, just as if they recognized the sound of her voice, there came a rising chorus of reedy squalls from somewhere over by the window.
Oh, bless them! Martha’s heart ached and seemed to swell in her chest. Exhausted though she was, a hot wave of love enveloped her, transforming her insides into a hot mush of tenderness. That curious tingling sensation flooded her breasts again. Beneath the scant covering of her shift, she felt her boobs swell and her nipples hardening in response to the babies outraged cries. “Bring them… to me,” she croaked, forcing her heavy eyelids open.
Vadim was scowling. What the heck was he so sour about?
When he saw her watching him, he forced his mouth into a brittle smile. “Later, perhaps. For now, you need to rest.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not until I’ve held our babies.” She arched her eyebrows, daring him to refuse.
“Martha, please. Be reasona—”
“Now, Vadim,” she said in a stronger voice.
“Oh, very well.” With a huff of defeat, he got up off the bed. “As you wish.” Martha sensed a distinct lack of enthusiasm coming from her hubby.
From the other side of the room, Ma and Agatha smiled and nodded in silent approval. Of course, Martha could have asked either one of the girls to bring the babies over, but something told her that Vadim should do it. It was long past time he held his children properly, ’cause as sure as God made little green apples, he was probably blaming himself and their babies for her current situation, and Martha just wasn’t having it.
If everything did fall apart and she wound up dead, then their reluctant daddy was all those two angels had—not that Martha had any intention of dying any time soon. No fecking way!
Picking up the woven basket from the low table by the window, Vadim brought it to the bed. “There,” he said, carefully placing the crib down beside Martha, without so much as glancing down at the basket’s wailing contents. “Now you’ve seen them.”
Clinging to the side of the crib, she peered inside. This was it. Her first proper glimpse of the babies together. Here they were at last. Two little bundles of joy screaming blue bloody murder, each child sporting an almost identical shock of fluffy black hair. Eyes screwed tight with temper, their wide-open mouths exposing their adorable pink gums, they fought like fury to escape the confinement of their swaddling cloths.
Suddenly misty-eyed, Martha smiled down at the angry pair, quite unable to put her feeling into words. At that moment, she knew what maternal instinct was all about.
Back home—wherever the twentieth century was currently hiding itself—whenever any of her coupled-up friends had popped out a baby, although she’d had always smiled and said what was expected, she’d never felt anything that remotely resembled maternal feelings. Not once.
Until now.
“Oh, Vadim!” Hot tears of utter joy cascaded unchecked down her cheeks. Reaching into the basket, Martha touched each warm chubby face in turn as wave after wave of the purest love pulsed through her. Finally, she was a mum. Now she understood why a mother would willingly fight to the death to protect her young. This sudden need to protect them was overwhelming. She’d never experienced anything like it.
“What is it?” Vadim perched on the bed beside her and stroked away her tears. “Are you in pain, love?”
“N-No!” Martha stammered, her throat tight with emotion. “I’m f-fine.”
“But you’re weeping.”
“Happy tears, that’s all. Liquid love.” She smiled, utterly besotted with her little family. “Oh, look at them, Vadim! Aren’t they perfect?”
But Vadim just gave another of those horrid tight-lipped smiles Martha was beginning to dislike so much and seemed no more inclined to look at the babies than he had before. Well, if he thought she hadn’t noticed, he had another think coming.
What she needed was a cunning plan. “Pick them up so I can give them a cuddle?”
“Oh, I… I don’t think that’s wise. Not yet.”
“Huh?” Martha could barely hear him over the cacophony of rage coming from the occupants of the crib.
“I said, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Vadim shouted over the unholy din. “You aren’t strong enough.”
“Well I happen to think it’s an excellent idea,” Ma yelled back, interceding on Martha’s behalf, her rheumy eyes flashing. “Those bairns are hungry and they need their mother.”
“I disagree,” Vadim snapped. “What they need is a wet-nurse. What my wife needs is peace and quiet!”
“Hey!” Martha jabbed Vadim’s thigh with her finger. “I am still here, you know.” What the hell was wrong with him, anyway?
By now her breasts were absolutely pounding, seeming to double in size with the passing of each second. “If you don’t pick up those babies up and hand them to me right now, I swear I’ll get up and do it myself!”
“No, lass. You mustn’t!” Looking horrified, Ma scurried over to the bed. “Here. Let me—”
“No, thank you. I want Vadim to do it.” Arms folded her over her throbbing boobs, Martha glared at her scowling hubby. If she had to force him to acknowledge his children, then that’s what she would do.
Ma still hovered beside the bed with hands outstretched, her eyes fixed on Martha, just waiting for the word to spring into action, but Martha only shook her head. No. The next move had to be Vadim’s.
When the babies’ cries ratcheted up yet another notch, and it became apparent that neither Ma nor Agatha was prepared to intervene on his behalf, muttering something they couldn’t hear, Vadim finally reached down into the woven crib and fished out one of his noisy cubs.
Instantly, the noise in the room lessened by half. The remaining baby’s protests tapered off into a whimper, much to Martha’s relief.
Vadim held the largest of the babies in his hands—their red-faced little boy who had somehow managed to wriggle his fist free from his swaddling cloths and was now sucking angrily upon it, almost up to his wrist. For endless seconds, father and son stared at one another, silently weighing one another up.
Martha held her breath and exchanged a glance with Ags and Ma.
Gradually, little by little, Vadim’s expression melted, transforming from cold hard granite into one of joy and wonder.
“You certainly have a lot to say for yourself, young man,” he chided softly, stroking the child’s dark head with his index finger. “Clearly a trait from your mother’s side of the tree. We shall have a fair bit of trouble with you, I foresee.” With great care, he lowered the child into Martha’s waiting arms. “Go to your mother while I see what your sister is about.”
As long as she lived, however indeterminate her remaining days might be, Martha would never forget this moment. Cradling her son’s small sturdy body to her breast, she marveled at the warm, solid weight of him and kissed each of his flailing fists in turn.
“Hello, baby. Remember me? I’m your mummy.” Then, closing her eyes, she buried her nose into his black fuzzy hair, inhaling his intoxicating baby scent.
The baby abruptly stopped thrashing and stared up at her, his intent dark blue eyes unfocused but all-seeing.
Feeling extremely soggy and uncomfortable in the boob region, Martha glanced down. Oh heck!
Her shift was totally translucent at the bodice, saturated by a flood of warm milk. Sensing a major leakage of the white stuff in his vicinity, the baby turned and began snuffling at Martha’s chest, making impatient little truffling sounds that reminded her of a baby piglet.
He wanted milk. Now!
But perhaps she shouldn’t. What about all those p
otions and infusions she’d been swigging all day? Wouldn’t they pass into her milk and harm him? “Can I feed him, Ma?” she asked the old lady. “Is it safe? I’ve had a lot of potions, remember.”
“Aye, but nothing that would harm your bairns. Well, not recently, anyhow.” Ma grinned. “Do you need some help?”
“Yes, please. But I’m still not sure how to—”
“Excuse me a moment, lad,” Ma said leaning over Vadim as he sat holding his daughter. “No, it’s fine. You stay there. There’s no need to get up. This will take but a moment.” With deft hands, the old lady took the baby from Martha—much to the child’s indignation—and laid him on a pillow beneath Martha’s left arm. “Do you have him properly, lass—yes? Now, just like before, if you stroke the nipple beneath his nose—”
“Ooh!”
With no hesitation, the baby opened his mouth like a little lion and latched on to Martha’s left nipple. Sucking furiously, he pummeled her breast with his tiny fist as he frantically chugged down his milk. Gradually the flailing punches eased off, and his beautiful navy eyes flickered shut.
Smiling, Martha planted a kiss on the child’s puckered brow. Although breastfeeding was a bit weird to begin with, she was fast getting used to it.
“Your daughter, m’lady.” Carefully, Vadim positioned the wailing baby, a replica of her brother in miniature, at Martha’s other breast. “Can you feed both babes at the same time?”
“I guess we’ll soon find out.” Not that Martha could foresee any problems in that department. Her breasts were so engorged they resembled over-inflated barrage balloons.
As the babies fed, a heavenly silence descended upon the room. Martha settled back on her pillows and relaxed, thankful that the aching pressure in her breasts was beginning to ease off.
As though summoned by the babies sucks, a curious tugging sensation pulsed deep within her battered womb, almost as if something were being reeled back in and then tightened. It felt odd, but not unpleasantly so.
Vadim had resumed his position by the side of the bed. Watching his new family intently, his dark eyes were warm and tender. “How do you feel, love?” he asked.
How did she feel? Too many emotions to be deciphered, all competing with one another, swirling about her head in a crazy maelstrom. It was too difficult to pin down just one particular feeling, to express herself in a single word. “Tired, sore, happy… all of the above. I couldn’t really say.”
Leaning forward, Vadim kissed her gently. “Do you know how much I love you, wife?” he murmured, his warm—slightly boozy—breath brushing over her dry, cracked lips, caressing them like a gentle breeze. “Truly, you are loveliness personified. Have you any notion of how vital you are to me?”
Martha snorted, and her smile broadened a tad. It was a lovely sentiment, but a little too flowery even for Vadim. “Thanks, love, but I think someone might have had a wee bit too much to drink.”
“And if I have, surely you cannot wonder why.” Another feather-soft kiss. “I thought I would lose you for certain this time.”
“As did we all,” Agatha remarked cheerfully as she bustled about the room gathering up the bloody sheets and cloths that seemed to adorn every surface. “I thought you’d never stop bleeding.”
Ma shuffled wearily to the foot of the bed. “I just need to check you again, lass.”
Martha shrugged. “Go for it.” After all she’d been through today, after all the hands she’d had groping about her insides, she felt like a well-used glove puppet. She had little pride remaining and was many, many stations away from maidenly modesty.
With Vadim by her side and the sucks and gulps of their new babies punctuating the heavenly silence of the night, Martha couldn’t have been happier—well, not unless Aunt Lulu were to suddenly walk through the door, which wasn’t very likely. She felt content. Euphoric even… Ma’s tinkering aside.
“Well, the bleeding has definitely stopped, may the spirits be praised.” Ma declared, at last, pulling the hem of Martha’s shift back down over her knees and re-covering her with the bedsheet. “But if you want to keep on drawing breath then you must harken to my words and heed well what I am about to say to you, girl.” Regarding her patient with her flintiest stare, Ma’s expression was suddenly deadly serious. “I know not how things are done where you’re from, but unless you wish to die, you must abandon your peculiar ways and do exactly as I say.”
How could she refuse when Ma had plucked her and the twins from the very jaws of death?
“Yes, Ma.” Judging by the old woman’s brief smile of satisfaction, meek acceptance was the right way to go.
“Good. Then I shall continue. First of all, there is to be no getting up out of bed—not for any reason. Is that clear?”
“Oh, trust me, Ma,” Vadim said in an equally firm tone. “She won’t be going anywhere.”
“Two.” As Ma stated her demands, she checked them off on her knobbly fingers to keep count. “There’s to be no exertion at all.” Ma directed a sudden hard glare in Vadim’s direction. “Not of any kind,” she added, her meaning all too clear. “Your lady’s bosom, impressive as it is, is strictly for the babies. Do I speak plainly enough?”
She certainly was. Horribly, graphically so.
Vadim looked appalled. “Surely you do not speak of… ?” He stared at Ma, unable to continue, his cheeks glowing with indignation. Or perhaps it was embarrassment? Either way, this was one of the most awkward talks Martha had ever endured.
“By the sacred name of the Great Spirit!” Vadim cried. “What kind of monster do you take me for, Ma? I can scarcely believe you feel the need to even broach such a subject. I wouldn’t dream of… it.”
Poor Vadim. He looked so affronted Martha wanted to laugh. It wasn’t every day that a bloke got the sexual riot act read to him by his elderly grandmother. Stifling her amusement, she fixed her eyes on the contended faces of their babies instead. Eyes half-closed, they were completely lost, drifting in a happy state of warm relaxation, somewhere between the realms of feeding and sleeping.
But Ma hadn’t finished with her marital advice just yet.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she went on, clearly not unduly concerned that she’d mortally offended her lordly grandson. “That particular field must lay fallow for a good many weeks to come. There’s to be absolutely no furrowing at all,” she added, in case Vadim hadn’t properly grasped her meaning. “Not for a long time.”
Martha snort-giggled. She couldn’t help it. I suppose a spot of hoe-ing and dibbing is out of the question too?
“Ma, please!” Vadim cried. “Yes. I perfectly comprehend you. Rather too well, if you really want to know. There’s no need to keep hammering the point home.”
“Hah!” Agatha mumbled as she swept by with yet another heap of soiled linen in her arms. “’Twas all the hammering at home that got all of this started in the first place.”
Martha laughed out loud at this soberly-delivered Agatha-ism. She just couldn’t help herself. Still latched on to her boobs, the twins squirmed and squeaked in protest at the sudden unwelcome jiggling and jostling of their milk supply. The look on Vadim’s face only made her laugh all the harder.
“And no laughing or frivolity of any kind,” Ma cried, with her gnarled index finger against her lips. “Hush, now. Stop your giggling or you might dislodge the clot. That little plug is all that’s stopping you from bleeding out, m’lady.”
One poxy blood clot was all that stood between her and eternal rest? Bugger. Martha sobered up mid-laugh. There was nothing funny about losing her cork, not when she had so much to live for.
A jaw-cracking yawn took her by surprise. Suddenly she was incredibly tired. Bone achingly weary, in fact. Her eyes burned and smarted with the effort of keeping them open.
Agatha must’ve seen how weary she was, for she stepped up, arms outstretched, to take the babies. “Hand the
m over, m’lady. You need your rest.”
“Oh, not yet,” Martha begged, wafting her away. She yawned again. “Leave them with me. Please? Just a little longer.”
The twins had settled down nicely. Now that their tiny bellies were full of milk, their sucks were less frenzied and increasingly intermittent. Replete and content, they grew heavier in her arms.
“I’m not the only one who needs her rest,” Martha said softly. “Thank you for everything you’ve done today, girls. You’ve both been amazing, but you need to get yourselves off to bed, too ’cause you look as knacker—I mean, as done in as I feel. Go on. Don’t worry about me.” She smiled. “Vadim’s here. I’ll be fine.”
Due to all their heroics on her behalf, Ma and Agatha’s complexions were a rather nasty shade of gray. Although they’d dismissed Effie some time ago, the two of them had constantly remained at Martha’s side. Now, deep, dark shadows hung in puffy swags beneath their bloodshot eyes. They needed rest—proper rest, not just a few minutes’ shut-eye while sitting upright on an uncomfortable fireside chair.
“Yes, go,” Vadim said, getting up from where he’d been kneeling. “Eat, drink, and sleep to your heart’s content, dear ladies. But before you depart, please take with you my heartfelt gratitude.” Despite Agatha’s blood-stained apron, Vadim went over and gave her a huge hug followed up by a tender kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Agatha. Because of your efforts, I still have my wife, plus a new family to love.”
“Ooh!” Agatha blushed to her roots and touched the place Vadim had kissed. “You’re most welcome, m’lord,” she said, adjusting her sliding headscarf for the umpteenth time that day.
Next, Vadim turned to Ma. Stooping low, he kissed the old lady’s cheek with great tenderness. “Thank you, Ma. You have saved us all this day. Whatever would we do without you?”
“Oh, you’d manage, sure enough.” Reaching up, Ma cupped Vadim’s face between her hands, and she regarded him intently. “Aye,” she said at length. “’Tis as I’ve always thought. You’ll make an excellent father, lad.” She smiled her familiar gummy smile. “You’ve waited a long time for this, have you not?”
A Scruple of Saffron. (A novella) Page 11
